


And Rain Will Make the Flowers Grow

by Laitie



Category: Les Misérables (Musical)
Genre: F/M, Family, Feels, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2018-12-12 03:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11728788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laitie/pseuds/Laitie
Summary: Aftermath of the battle in the musical. Gavroche had a friend who could never really keep up with him. This is his story. Thank you to Dove for the title inspiration.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rough draft. I'm sorry if it's awful. Please leave constructive criticism.

Auguste had always been a quiet boy. He had always wanted to keep up with his friend, Gavroche. But his legs had always been too weak to do so. He had tried to help in the fight, too. But he wasn’t any help. The night of the battle, his mother had taken his crutch and hid it, so he would have never been able to make it to the battlefield. That isn’t to say he didn’t try. But he had been too late. 

He reflected on that night too often. Usually when he found himself at the ABC Cafe. He would sit in the window, his crutch leaning against his shoulder, as he stared out to the street, eyes distant and unfocused. When his mother died of disease, he found himself there more often than not. The owner of the cafe had yet to chase the street rat out. He hoped that day would never come. Today was of the typical kind. It was gloomy and overcast, threatening to rain any minute.

“Gus.” 

Auguste frowned. Was that really been Gavroche calling him?

“Gus?” 

No, it couldn’t have been. Gavroche was dead.

“Auguste.”

Finally, the boy blinked and looked for the source of the voice. Marius was standing beside him, leaning heavily on the cane in his right hand. “I heard,” he said. 

Auguste frowned and looked down at his bare feet. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you here, though,” Marius went on.

“I have nowhere else to go,” Auguste whispered, his voice scratchy. He hadn’t used it in a while, what with there being to reason to. 

Marius nodded. After a moment, he wordlessly took hold of the boy in his left arm, hoisting him up upon his hip. Auguste didn’t object. He held on to Marius, grateful for any sort of human contact at this point. 

Marius and Auguste still didn’t speak as the man turned and carried the boy out of the cafe.  
\----

When they arrived at the Pontmercy home, Cosette was in the office working on paperwork for her late father. Marius walked straight there, the silent Auguste still hiding his face in the man’s shoulder. Cosette looked up and blinked, faltering.

“U-uhm, hello, my love,” she began. “W-who is...I mean...”

“This is Auguste,” Marius said, going to sit on one of the chairs across the desk from his wife. He leaned his cane against the chair and settled the boy on his lap, taking his crutch and leaning it beside his cane. Auguste curled into him, still not looking at Cosette. “He was...well...” He cleared his throat. Even talking about the poor, lost boy got him choked up. “He was a good friend of Gavroche’s. And his mother passed the other day.”

“Oh, the poor dear,” Cosette said, her voice and face softening as she looked over at the boy. “I’m so sorry to hear that...”

“He has weak legs,” Marius went on. “But he’s got a good heart. I think he deserves a better chance.”

Cosette nodded. “You’re right,” she said certainly. “He does. Auguste?” She asked, looking back at him.

Slowly, Auguste looked over at her. 

“Won’t you stay with us?” she asked.

The boy stared at her hopeful face, not really sure of what was going on right now. Were they really going to take care of him? A part of him wanted to say “no.” That he could fend for himself. But his empty stomach protested louder. He was a cripple, there was no doubt about that. Cripples didn’t last long in the streets.

Slowly, uncertainly, he nodded. Cosette grinned as Marius smoothed the boy’s hair.

“First things first,” Marius said. “We need to get you something to eat.”

“Then a bath,” Cosette insisted. The adults chuckled as Auguste returned his thoughts. A glimmer of hope shone through the darkness. Was he really going to be OK, now?  
\----

Despite his hunger, he ate very little that night. Marius and Cosette weren’t surprised, though. Grief had hit them all hard. Auguste harder than most. When they finally gave up on encouraging him to finish his half-eaten chicken breast, Cosette asked Marius to give the boy a bath.

“You heard her,” he said with a grin to the boy. “The Lady of the House wants you to get cleaned up.”

Auguste frowned. “I hate baths...” he said quietly. But Marius just chuckled.

“I’m sure you do,” he said. “Wasn’t a fan of the myself as a boy. But we have to do what we’re told.” 

The boy didn’t budge. But he didn’t fight, either, when Marius came over and picked him up with his free arm again. The man frowned as he carried the child up the stairs. He was far too light. Far too malnourished. And the fact that he hadn’t eaten much at dinner... Would he and Cosette really be able to nurse Auguste to a health the boy had never known?

The rain pounded on the roof as Marius carried the boy into the bathroom where the house’s servants had prepared the bath and clean clothes for Auguste. He placed him on the floor and sat down beside him.

“Don’t tell me I’m going to have to help you undress,” Marius said with a chuckle. Auguste frowned at him.

“I’m not taking a bath,” the boy insisted.

“C’mon, Gus,” Marius almost begged. “I--”

“Don’t call me ‘Gus!’” Auguste exclaimed. “We were never friends.”

Marius frowned. “All right, I’m sorry,” he said, holding his hand out, palms down, in a calming gesture. “Auguste. Please. If you want to get well, you need a bath.”

“Who said I wanted to get well!?”

“Auguste--”

“Everyone’s gone! Gavroche is gone! My mamman is gone!” Tears began to well in the boy’s eyes as he began to scream. “All your friends are gone! Why do I want to get well!? Why does it matter!?”

Marius reached out and caught the boy as he collapsed into sobs.


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, it took Marius and a male servant an hour to get Auguste bathed and re-dressed. He was a clever and agile boy, almost always finding a way to slip out of their grasps. But he refused to admit to them that he actually felt better after the bath. The water had washed away his tears and cooled his fiery anger. 

“I think it’s time for bed, huh?” Marius asked Auguste when he let out a yawn when his nightclothes had been straightened upon his person. It was quite a bit too big for him. Marius hoped the boy would soon grow into it.

Auguste frowned, looking down at his legs then glancing over at his crutch the servant had brought up and leaned against the wall. “I’m too tired to walk...” he said softly.

“That’s fine,” Marius assured him before looking over at the servant. “Pierre?” he asked.

“Of course, Monsieur,” Pierre said, coming over to the boy and picking him up in his arms. Auguste leaned his heavy head against the servant’s shoulder while Marius grabbed the crutch and they all headed out of the bathroom. The child was asleep before they reached the bedroom. Pierre laid the boy in the bed and covered him with the sheets.   
“How is he?” came Cosette’s voice from the doorway. 

Marius, who had been leaning over the boy, straightened and looked over at his wife as Pierre backed up and left the room. He gave her a soft grin. “He’s fine,” he said.

“There was a lot of commotion in the bathroom,” Cosette pointed out, walking in and standing beside him.

Marius sighed, looking back over at the sleeping boy. “He’s been through a lot, love,” he said. “Caring for him isn’t going to be easy.”

Cosette frowned and gently leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder, gazing at the boy. “Will he be all right?”

“I think so,” he assured her. “I really do.”  
\----

When Auguste woke up the next morning, he had no idea where he was. He sat up quickly and looked around. What was he doing in a rich person’s bedroom? In their bed!?

...Oh, yeah. He lived with Marius now. Him and...what was his wife’s name? He shook his head. This must be his room. His bed.

He had a hard time comprehending that part. How could this nice room and nice bed belong to him? He was nothing but a crippled streetrat.

He shook his head. Glancing around, he found his crutch leaning against the bedframe. Slowly, he maneuvered to the edge of the huge bed and swung his legs over the side. He slid off the mattress and grabbed his crutch just as the door opened. 

“Good morning, Auguste,” Cosette said, smiling sweetly at him. She was already dressed. “Did you sleep well?” she asked, walking in.

He nodded, avoiding her gaze and, instead, staring down at his bare feet. Cosette came in and started opening the drawers of the dresser. “We don’t have much,” Cosette said. “But these were Marius’s when her was younger. They should fit.” She turned to look at him, a load of clothes in her arms. “Do you need help dressing?”

He shook his head, glancing at the clothes. How was he supposed to put all those on?

“I’ll send Pierre up in a while to check on you,” she said, placing the clothes on the bed beside him. She knelt down to his height. Reluctantly, he looked her in the eye. “I’m glad you’re here, Auguste,” she told him, her voice serious and sincere. She smiled at him. “Come on down to breakfast when you’re ready.” With that, she turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Auguste sighed and looked over at the clothes. He didn’t any idea how to get any of this on. Slowly, he leaned his crutch against the bed and began dressing.

Twenty minutes later, Marius and Cosette were still waiting for Auguste in the dining room. “He might not know how those clothes work,” Marius said.

“You’re probably right,” Cosette said with a frown. “We should send Pierre up.”

“No, I’ll go,” Marius said. “He knows me better.” With a nod from his wife, he grabbed his cane and headed upstairs. The door was still closed when he approached Auguste’s bedroom. He knocked. “Auguste?” he called.

“Don’t come in!” was the response.

“Are you all right in there?” Marius asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No.”

Marius sighed. “Auguste...” he said to himself, shaking his head. He blinked when her head the boy fall, immediately opening the door. It hadn’t been a bad fall. It looked like he had tried to put on the trousers and tripped. His chest was bare, but he had his undergarments on. 

Auguste stared at the ground, too embarrassed to look Marius in the eye as he came over and sat on the ground beside him. The man came over and gently helped him sit up. “Sure you don’t need help?” he asked with a grin. Auguste remained stubbornly silent. Eventually, Marius reached for the messy pile of clothes on the ground and began helping him dress.

A few minutes later, they were headed downstairs together. Slowly, of course. Marius with his cane and Auguste with his crutch. Cosette stood at the bottom of the stairs, smiling. 

“Sorry we took so long, love,” Marius said as they descended. “Got a bit tied up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cosette said. “I’m sure the food will still taste fine.” When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Cosette kneeled down to Auguste’s height. “I hope you’re hungry,” she said cheerfully. “We have a lot of food ready.”

Auguste bit his lip as he looked at her. Slowly, he nodded as his stomach growled at the thought.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. But Auguste ate more than the night before. Cosette almost cheered when he asked for seconds. “Of course, darling!” she said, taking his plate and filling it close to overflowing. She beamed as she handed the plate back to him, his eyes bulging.

Slowly, he worked through the second plate. It was half-finished when he couldn’t eat anymore. “I’m sorry,” he said sadly, pushing the plate away.

“Don’t be!” Cosette insisted. “I’m just so happy to see you eating.” She turned to Marius, who was finishing up his own plate. “Do you have any plans for the day?” she asked.

“I think today should be a quiet one,” Marius replied. “Show Auguste around the house. Would you like that?” he asked, turning to the boy.

“I guess,” Auguste said with a shrug. 

“We have a lovely garden,” Cosette said. “It’s a great place to play. I loved playing in my Papa’s garden when I was a child.”

Auguste bit his lip, unsure about how much “playing” he would be doing. Not with his legs as weak as they were.

The boy took his crutch and slid off the chair.

“Wait, Auguste,” Cosette said. He paused and looked up at her. “You need to ask to be excused.”

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s polite,” Cosette told him. “We have manners in this house.” 

Auguste frowned and looked at Marius. The man nodded encouragingly. The boy sighed. “May I be excused?” he asked impatiently.

“Yes, you may,” Cosette said with a grin.

“What was the point of asking if you were going to say ‘yes’ anyway?” Auguste demanded.

“Auguste,” Marius said firmly. “We don’t talk like that to others.”

“This is foolish,” he said.

“That’s enough,” Marius said with a frown. 

Auguste glared at Marius but soon looked away. His own father had been no stranger to the switch when it came to discipline, and he remembered its sting very clearly. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled before heading out of the room.

“He’s a good boy,” Cosette said when Auguste was out of earshot.

“Yes, he certainly seems to be,” Marius agreed.

“Just troubled,” Cosette added.

Marius nodded. “I don’t blame him,” he said. “Boy’s been through much.”

“I wish we had some children around for him to play with...” 

He stood and made his way over to her, taking her hand in his. “We will,” he said, leaving a kiss on her lips.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to post this up!

Auguste lay on his back in the garden, springtime flowers blossoming around him. His head was pillowed by his hands as he stared up at the clear sky. He heard someone coming out of the house and walking towards him, but he decided he was still angry and didn’t care to see who it was.

“No clouds today,” came Cosette’s voice. He heard her dress rustle as she sat down beside him. “My father and I used to look for shapes and images in the clouds.”

“My father never had time to do things like that with me,” Auguste said shortly.

He heard her sigh. “Here,” she said, holding a book out to him. He looked over at her and the book, but didn’t take it. “I used to love this book as a child. ‘Aesop’s Fables’.”

He stared at her. “I can’t read,” he said impatiently.

She nodded. She had expected as much. “So let me teach you,” she said. He frowned, but sat up and studied her. He liked the idea of learning to read. Maybe if he learned some book smarts, he wouldn’t be such a useless cripple.

But she was just offering to do this because she felt bad for him. And he wasn’t going to be some charity case for her and Marius. 

Before he came up with how to respond, she spoke again. “I spent much of my childhood in squalor. My mother had to leave me in the care of others. She didn’t know how cruel they were to me. It was when she died that Monsieur Valjean found me and took me in. He rose us up from squalor to where I am now. I want to do the same for you that my Papa did for me. Give you a chance.”

Auguste laid back down and thought about her words. He thought long and hard. When he finally came to a decision, he sat up to discover that she had left. The book lay in the grass beside him. Slowly, he reached over and picked it up.

Later that day, Auguste found Cosette in the study, reading. She was on a couch, and he wordlessly came over and climbed up to sit beside her. She closed her book and looked over at him patiently.

He fingered the book in his hands. Finally, he said, staring at his fingers, “I would like to learn to read. ...Please.” 

Cosette gave a soft smile and rested an arm across his shoulders. “I would love to teach you,” she said.

They left the rest of the day for Auguste to just rest and get used to the house. The seamstress arrived that afternoon and measured Auguste for new clothes for him. Cosette asked the seamstress to rush the order. She didn’t want Auguste wearing poorly fitted clothes any longer than he had to, now that he was in good hands.

“Where’s Marius?” Auguste asked once the seamstress had left. They were sitting at the dining room table together, eating lunch.

“He had work to do outside the house,” Cosette told him, placing food upon his plate. “He’ll be home for dinner. He always is.” She handed him his plate.

Auguste frowned as he looked at his plate. “What kind of work?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” she lied. “Go on, love. Eat.”

Auguste continued to frown and stare at his plate. 

“What’s the matter?” Cosette asked calmly.

“I wish he was here,” he said. He looked up at Cosette. “What if he doesn’t come back?”

She frowned as concern grew in her eyes. “He always comes home,” she said. “I promise.”

He shook his head and pushed his plate away. “I’m not hungry,” he said, despite the cry of his empty stomach.

“Auguste...” 

He pushed himself away from the table.

“Auguste, please,” Cosette said. “I wish you would eat.” 

He shook his head as he slid off the chair and grabbed his crutch that was leaning against the table. She sighed as he walked out of the room.  
Not long later, Marius arrived home. He found his wife in the study. “I’m home, love,” he said with a grin. She looked up from her work and gave him a warm smile.

“Welcome home,” she said. He walked over and gave her a kiss upon the cheek.

“How is he?” he asked.

She frowned. “He didn’t think you were coming back,” she said. “It upset him so that he didn’t eat lunch.”

Marius frowned. “I better go see him,” he said. “Where is he?”

“In the garden, I believe.”

He gave her one last kiss before making his way towards the garden.

This time when Auguste heard someone coming towards him, he looked up from where he had been lying. His entire face brightened when he saw him. “Marius!” he cried, scrambling to get up and race toward him. Marius reached the boy before he could get the crutch straightened out. Auguste jumped up and wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, hugging him tightly. 

“I’m here,” Marius assured him, rubbing his back comfortingly. “I’ll never just up and leave. I’ll always come home. I promise.”

Auguste’s eyes were shut tight, holding back tears. “My Papa....” he mumbled. “He never did...”

“I’ll never leave you,” Marius promised.


	4. Chapter 4

Auguste awoke the next morning to pain. He moaned and clung to his burning legs. This was common enough occurrence, as painful as it was. He wasn’t going to be able to walk anywhere today. Even with his crutch.

A servant by the name of Marie--and older, gentle woman--cam in not long later to wake him. “Oh, dear child,” she said when she saw him writhing in pain. “What is wrong?”

“My legs,” he moaned. “They’re burning.” The woman came over and looked at his bare legs, but there was nothing unusual to be seen. She reached over and began massaging them.

“It still burns,” he complained after a few minutes of her treatment. She sighed as he curled up into a ball, still groaning in pain.

“What’s wrong?” came Marius’s voice from the open doorway. Marie turned to face him.

“It’s his legs, Monsieur,” she told him. “They’re hurting him terribly. I think we need the doctor.”

“Go send Pierre,” Marius said. Marie nodded and rushed out of the room. Marius made his way to Auguste’s bed, sitting on it and taking the boy in his arms.

Auguste was hiding his face in his knees. He was crying from the pain. His own father would take out the switch if he ever cried. Before he never came home, that is.

“It’s OK,” Marius said softly, rubbing the boy’s legs. “I know it hurts. The doctor will make it better.”

The doctor did everything he could. He spent all morning poking and prodding the poor boy. Testing and measuring. At noontime, he had to admit defeat. “I cannot find the reason for his pain,” he told Marius and Cosette in the living room. “Nor for his weakness. The best I can suggest is an ice bath for the burning and rest.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Marius said, shaking the man’s hand. He led him to the door and bid him goodbye.

“He hates baths,” Cosette said with a frown when Marius returned. “One made of ice will just be worse.”

“I know,” he said somberly. “But if it’ll help him get better, he’ll have to.”

“Do you really think we can convince him? He’s just a child.”

“No,” he admitted. “But if we have to, we can carry him.”

Cosette’s frown deepened. But she didn’t protest. Together, they went upstairs to talk to Auguste.  
\----

“No!” Auguste cried when Marius and Cosette told him about the ice bath. The burning in his legs had subsided enough by not for him to think coherently, if not get out of bed. Marius and Cosette sat on either side of him on the bed.

“It’s the only way,” Cosette said. “The doctor said it’ll strengthen your legs.”

“I’m not doing it,” the boy argued.

“It’s not like a normal bath,” Cosette insisted. “You don’t have to worry about getting clean.”

“I said ‘no’!” he yelled.

“Don’t raise your voice to your--to Cosette,” Marius said sternly. Auguste frowned and looked over at him. “I’m afraid it’s not a choice,” he went on. “You will start taking ice baths.”

“But I--” Auguste flinched and silenced himself immediately when Marius held up his hand. The man frowned and looked at his own hand before dropping it.

“You will start having ice baths,” Marius repeated. “And so you don’t try to get out of it, your crutch will be kept in our room at night.”

“That’s not fair!” Auguste burst out before flinching again, anticipating a strike for talking back again. Of course, Marius did not strike him.

“Do you understand, Auguste?” the man asked. When Auguste merely stared at the end of the bed and didn’t answer, his voice grew firmer. “Do you understand me, Auguste?”

“Yes, sir,” Auguste mumbled.

Marius sighed. “It’s for your own good, son,” he added.

“I’m not your son!” Auguste shot back. Marius and Cosette shared a look as the boy laid down. “I’m tired,” he said. “Please leave me alone.”

Reluctantly, the couple complied. Marius took hold of Auguste’s crutch before walking out of the room with his wife and closing the door behind them.

The first ice bath took place that night. Marius enlisted the help of both Pierre and a man from the stables in town. Marius helped the boy undress while Pierre and the hired man filled the tub with ice.

“This is going to help you get better,” Marius insisted as he and Auguste waited for the tub to be ready. They sat on the boy’s bed, Auguste’s naked body trembling within a blanket at the idea of what they were about to do to him. He remained silent, staring at the foot of the bed.

There was a soft knock on the door. “Enter,” Marius called. The door opened and Pierre stepped inside.

“We are ready, Monsieur,” he said. Marius nodded and the servant approached, taking the frightened boy in his arms. Auguste clung to him as they ventured to the bathroom, silently begging someone, anyone, to put a stop to this.

When they entered the bathroom, Auguste looked away from the tub filled with ice and began struggling. “No!” he cried. “Please!”

His pleas were ignored as his blanket was removed and the two strong men placed the boy in the tub.

Marius bit his lip hard as the boy screamed and yelled and begged and fought. He couldn’t imagine the terrible cold ripping through the boy’s small, weak body right now. All he could think was how glad he was that Cosette was not here. She would not have been able to handle this. 

Auguste was in a world of cold. He shivered violently as the ice clung to every inch of his skin. It was worse than any winter he had ever experienced. And in the winter, he always had at least thin clothing to protect him from the cold. Tears streamed down his face as the men held him against the ice. They sometimes scooped some ice on top of him when they could get a free hand. He curled into a ball and tried to preserve his body heat. But it was to no avail. It was too cold. 

It felt like they held him there forever. When they finally pulled him out, he was soaking wet and felt like an icicle. The men rushed to dry him off and place the warm, fuzzy blanket back around his shoulders. He shivered in Pierre’s arms as he was carried back to his own bedroom, Marius following.


End file.
